


i've seen you die.

by towards



Category: South Park
Genre: Drug Abuse, M/M, South Park: The Fractured But Whole, Substance Abuse, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 04:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towards/pseuds/towards
Summary: Kenny’s fingers brush his hair back, feel his cheek and his forehead, checking his vitals casual as can be. So familiar with this that it’s merely old hat, as familiar as a handshake, a reassurance that he’ll still be here when he comes by tomorrow evening after his shift. “You gotta get your shit together, Tweekers.”“You were dead,” he says again, but Kenny’s hands are cool and he wants cool over the burning inside of him. “I’ve gone to your funeral fifty-two times.”





	i've seen you die.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so far in south park hell. have a drabble.

“I’ve seen you die,” Tweek says one evening when they’re sixteen and still full of dreams, his head on the table. He’s sweating and shaking, dizzy with the euphoria only fucking jet fuel can get out of him these days. His use is ramping up, nobody seems to be worried. Nobody save the boy sitting in front of him. “Loads of times. You were gone for six months in the fourth grade – I know, I took your place.”

Kenny’s fingers brush his hair back, feel his cheek and his forehead, checking his vitals casual as can be. So familiar with this that it’s merely old hat, as familiar as a handshake, a reassurance that he’ll still be here when he comes by tomorrow evening after his shift. “You gotta get your shit together, Tweekers.”

“You were dead,” he says again, but Kenny’s hands are cool and he wants cool over the burning inside of him. “I’ve gone to your funeral fifty-two times.”

“If I’m dead, why am I still here, man?” Soft voice, soft voice, the kind that sounds like he’s reasoning with a child, or a parent warning against the dangers of climbing up on the countertops. Seeing what shouldn’t be seen. Tweek doesn’t have the energy to lift his head, he just hurrumphs against his arm.

Nobody ever believes him anyway.

“Why are any of us here?” He mumbles. Kenny laughs. It’s a nice laugh.

“Shit, you’re getting deep on me. Next thing I know you’re gonna be spouting some of that ancient aliens shit.”

“I really did,” he insists. “I really did.” 

But the moment is gone.

Two days later he’s at a funeral. Fifty-three. Marks it on the calendar and then goes home and dresses for his shift. Kenny walks in like nothing happened, they don’t talk about it. He just hands him a sweetened coffee and they talk shit about the people that they call friends and it never happened.

A lot of things never happen in South Park. Tweek Tweak doesn’t develop a drug problem. Kenny McCormick doesn’t vanish from sight, replaced instead with a hero beyond measure. They’re still friends, they still have coffee – Kenny worries over him in a way most of his close friends don’t know they should, and he does the same for him.

When they’re twenty-four he brings it up again – there’s less magic, less humor, Beyonce isn’t playing on the radio and there’s no comforting smell of coffee. Mysterion has him draped across his back, the hero’s voice is commanding stay awake, damnit, don’t you fucking die on me Tweek and he knows he’s royally fucked up because he’s never heard Kenny McCormick sound so urgent before. The hero had been seconds too late to the scene. He knew it was going to be a bad deal going into it – these new guys aren’t small town crooks and he’s been too sick to do these runs for a long time. The stab wound in his gut tells him his time is running short, he’s bleeding red all over Mysterion’s purple.

“Ninety-nine,” Tweek sputters, droplets of red bubbling up from the corner of his mouth. “Ninety-nine funerals. N-No, nngh…. No wonder your family is, so broke.”

“Stop talking. Save your strength.”

“I d-don’t even think my parents will want to pay for… one… H-holy shit, man…”

“You’re going to be fine.”

Gunshots. Kenny picks up the pace, shifting Tweek’s meager weight on his back and booking it for all he’s worth. Tweek doesn’t even feel the pain, and for once, he knows it has nothing to do with the drugs.

He’s bleeding to death.

“Fucking shit,” Kenny snaps, taking a hard right and a left. Their pursuers can’‘t seem to follow them, the trail is going cold, but so is Tweek. They’re on the opposite edge of town from the hospital. He shifts on Kenny’s back and lets out a ragged, miserable breath that almost sounds like tears. “Shit, shit, shitshitshitfuck.”

“Just… put me down, man. Go.”

“Tweek, I said shut the fuck up. Now isn’t the time to -”

“I-I’m not… trying, nnn, to be noble. It hurts.”

The world is fading. Tweek coughs, a mouthful of blood splashes onto the pavement. Kenny makes a sound like the world is breaking and carefully sets him down on the ground, assessing the damage with despair in his eyes.

“Shit.”

Tweek’s lips quirk weakly. “Shit.”

“I can fix this,” he says, but he sounds unsure. A glance over his shoulder - they’re not far enough away for it to be safe. “I can fix this, you just have to trust me.”

He does. He doesn’t think he has to say as much. Kenny calls for an ambulance – there isn’t time, he wants to say, but the hero doesn’t seem to notice. At the same time he whips out a knife from his belt and holds it to his skin, he isn’t sure what to say or expect. The protest dies on his lips. 

He slashes through his throat. The sound is awful. Tweek can’t stand it, the gurgling, the gasping – but it’s more than that. It’s what rises from the body that startles him, what haunts him, and the rush of power through him.

Paramedics arrive to find one man dead. Another impossibly clinging to life. 

Tweek attends the one hundredth funeral in a wheelchair. A miracle to have survived at all. 

It takes longer than usual.

Long enough for him to worry, and to mourn. He may walk again, he may not – the town doesn’t forget the funeral. He gets condolences and apologies, as well as people prying for information - did he know Mysterion was Kenny McCormick? What was their relationship? 

He doesn’t interview. He doesn’t do anything, really. He goes to the shop. He smokes pot. He trips on acid. He puts that night out of his memory the only way he knows how, ignores the fact that he’s still gone and worries endlessly.

( And he thinks about what he saw, the monster he saw )

for his friend.

It’s only when the people forget that he knows it’s okay.

Seven months later, a man walks into coffee shop. Tweek is still in the chair, dozing on one of the tables. He wakes when the bell jangles, rubs his eyes blearily and offers a faint smile in turn. Kenny shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets and takes stock of him, chair and all, and despite the barest hint of unease in the crease of his brows – he smiles, reassured.

“You’re late, man. Coffee’s cold. Y-you’re going to run me out of business if you keep me waiting like that again.”

A subtle plea.

“Last time I make you wait. I promise-.”


End file.
